


Lack of Communication Between Modern Males Regardless of Second Gender

by beltainefaerie



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha/Omega, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bonding, But mostly porn, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 13:06:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19426588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beltainefaerie/pseuds/beltainefaerie
Summary: Suffice it to say, John and Sherlock should talk more, nearly break each other's hearts, but do eventually get what they need.





	Lack of Communication Between Modern Males Regardless of Second Gender

**Author's Note:**

> Working titles for this fic also included: 
> 
> The dangers of trying to share a heat, but not your heart
> 
> what happens when two idiots fail to communicate
> 
> and
> 
> if you only knew
> 
> Thanks to janto321 for betaing as always! I have no idea how many times she has read parts of this, since I've been poking at it for something like three years. Bless her patience! Some stories are like that for me. *shrugs* 
> 
> Blessed are those who leave kudos and comments, for they shall receive more porn.

John sat in his chair, resolutely ignoring the disheveled mess that Sherlock was turning into. _His flatmate, his best friend,_ he reminded himself firmly. It didn’t matter that his body had other ideas right now. 

Although Sherlock’s scent hadn’t changed much yet, the preliminary symptoms would have been obvious, even if John didn’t have his extensive medical background. John knew even before Sherlock had begun spouting nonsense. 

Sherlock had taken off his coat and draped it over his arm, despite the autumn chill, before they even got in the cab. As soon as they were seated and headed back towards Baker Street, he’d begun loosening his collar further than usual and unbuttoning his cuffs. 

It hadn’t stopped there, either. Sherlock had stripped half his clothes off piece by piece in the 10 minutes they’d been in their flat.

John had averted his gaze and picked up the book he’d been reading yesterday morning, before the case that sent them running pell mell all over London in the pouring rain. He feared Sherlock would actually strip altogether, which wouldn’t make this any easier. But it was in fact worse than that. Sherlock began actually talking to John. _Christ._ Not that he didn’t like talking with Sherlock, it was just, well… the content was rather new.

“Touch me,” Sherlock growled. 

John raised a brow at Sherlock, but did not move from the chair in which he had firmly planted himself.

“Mount me, use me!” Sherlock shouted. “Isn’t that what you were made to do, John?” His tone shifted as he turned, pleading, “Isn’t that what you’ve been trying with all the insipid little omegas you insist on dating? I’m right here! Ready for you.” He wriggled his bottom in his chair as though trying to scratch an unscratchable itch. “Do it! John, I can’t stand this. I can’t think. Fix it, John! You know you can. You’d like it. I know you haven’t gotten a leg over in a while. Please.”

“Sherlock you’re _not_ thinking clearly. If Dimmock or Donovan walked through that door right now, you’d be asking them the same thing.”

Sherlock looked deeply affronted, his face falling, but John had seen omegas in heat before and knew their desperation, and later their regret. The last thing he needed was to give in to what he wanted to do with Sherlock, and then have him resent it. And no matter what he was saying now, he would regret it. All this begging was just hormonal nonsense.

‘Nonsense’ was probably too strong a word, but from Sherlock? It sounded like complete rubbish. In all the time they’d known one another, there was never any indication that Sherlock wanted to share heat with anyone at all. He’d never sought a relationship with anyone. He wasn’t exactly likely to start nesting now. It was just the hormones. 

John steeled himself. As much as he wished, not for the first time, that he _could_ just take Sherlock to bed, it didn’t work like that. He wouldn’t lose the best friend he’d ever had for one pheromone-addled tumble and that was that. It was settled. John was resolved. Strong. He could do this. 

That was when it hit, Sherlock’s scent shifted from a pleasant background to an intense cocktail of pheromones designed to entice, to appeal to the most basic part of John’s physiology.

There were those who argued that omegas should be sequestered the week before their cycle. Lawyers who would talk down the sentences of anyone who leapt on them at the first whiff of heat. ‘What were they thinking going out smelling like that’ and the like. It was demeaning and controlling and John had gotten into more than one fistfight over omega rights. Besides, what alpha (who wasn’t a complete barbarian) went out without a little vial of menthol or camphor or some special blend of oils they fancied for the job. There wasn’t a pheromone in existence that couldn’t be drowned out with one of those. Cleared the sinuses nicely, too. 

John made a decision, ignoring the drop in Sherlock’s voice, the slight quaver that each syllable positively dripping with need as he cried out, “John, help me!” 

John squared his shoulders, straightened his posture and calmly walked to his jacket. Slipping his hand into the inner pocket, he retrieved his little vial, a particular blend of eucalyptus and clove that he favored. He paused just a moment, breathing in the heady scent of the room one last time before he destroyed it. Sherlock always smelled glorious, but now he was the most sensual, delectable thing John had ever experienced. His unaided resolve couldn’t hold out much longer. 

Sherlock continued to beg. Really beg. There honestly was no other word for the continued litany of wheedling, “Why won’t you help me!” and “‘You have what I need, John” all said with the air of a child being denied a sweet. At last, his voice dropped to a soft whisper. “Please, take me. You’ve never denied me anything I needed. Not when it really mattered. Please, John. ” 

Poised with his hands on the vial, John paused. _Jesus_ Sherlock didn’t beg. He usually didn’t even ask or even issue a polite ‘please’ with his requests. Sherlock demanded, he ordered, he charged in and took. Occasionally he cajoled and wheedled like tot as he’d tried moments earlier. But _never_ begged.

Clearly realising what was in John’s hands, Sherlock’s eyes flashed and he launched himself off the sofa faster than John had ever seen him move, which was saying something. 

“Don’t,” Sherlock said, his voice suddenly controlled and much colder, closer to how he sounded mid-deduction. He dashed the, thankfully unopened, vial from John’s hand. “Don’t drown me out. Leave if you won’t help me. I’ll get through it alone like I have all the others, but don’t drown me out and then sit here unaffected, like you aren’t the only alpha I’ve ever needed. Please, John. Reject me if you must, but not like that.”

John glanced at the door then back at Sherlock, running over what Sherlock had just said. Did he really mean… 

John’s resistance crumbled. In the back of his mind he still worried he’d regret this, but maybe, just maybe Sherlock really meant this. His arms twined around Sherlock and he kissed him deeply, then lifted him in a fireman carry all the way into Sherlock’s room. He kissed him once more and tossed him down onto the bed. 

“Fuck,” Sherlock bit out, followed by a groan that neared a growl.

John stripped off his shirt, tearing in his haste, but he couldn’t be arsed to care. Sherlock’s pants were damp with his own slick and John bent down to taste him, lapping at the soft, soaked cotton. Sherlock let out a low keening wail and begged again. “Just take me, John. I need you filling me up.” He stripped off his own pants, spreading his legs wantonly, his cock was hard and leaking though not as much as his delectable arse.

John freed himself from his trousers and pants, his thick alpha cock jutting out. Sherlock’s jaw actually dropped open slightly at the sight, with an involuntary groan. 

“This is what you need, Sherlock?” John ran his fingers through Sherlock’s slick, and stroked himself then held himself just at Sherlock’s entrance, waiting to hear him say it once more. 

“Please John!” Sherlock moaned and pushed his hips back, allowing the head to breach him. 

John pushed in a little further, savoring the silky, wet heat surrounding him. “God, you’re so good, Sherlock.” He leaned down and bit Sherlock’s shoulder hard, close enough to a bond mark for a thrill, but far enough away to be safe. After all, Sherlock had made it quite clear from day one that he belonged to no one and had no intention of changing. John didn’t let go, not yet. biting harder as he drove himself deeper into Sherlock’s arse. 

The pain, pleasure, and intimacy mingled together into bliss for them both and Sherlock shuddered and cried out, spasming as his first orgasm overtook him.

John let go, tasting iron and salt. He should feel bad for drawing blood, but John couldn’t regret it. The result was too spectacular, ribbons of white spilling across Sherlock’s stomach and the dripping slickness from where their bodies joined together. With a wicked gleam in his eye, he ran his fingers through the mess and licked them clean.

Sherlock moaned at the sight and rolled his hips to encourage John to move again.

“Greedy, aren’t you? For this,” John said, picking up his pace and fucking into him with hard fast strokes. He gripped Sherlock’s hips as he took him completely. “Positively dripping for me, aren’t you, love?” 

John wouldn’t have believed that Sherlock Holmes could blush, even pale as he was, if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, but blush he did. His eyes were wide in near-wonder, as if John hung the stars as he answered softly, “For you.”

Those little words pushed just the right alpha buttons, and John was gripped with a searing spike of need to _take claim own breed_. He pushed in as deep as he could, enveloped in the tight sheath of Sherlock’s body and stilled. Pleasure washed through him, whiting out his vision for a moment as his knot inflated fully, sealing them together. It seemed to go on forever as he flooded Sherlock with wave after wave of his seed. His whole body tingled with ecstasy, white hot and overwhelming. 

Sherlock wriggled against him, “So full, John,” he moaned, stroking a hand over his slightly distended belly.

John reached down, stroking Sherlock’s softening cock, making Sherlock shudder and moan against him. Sparks of pleasure skittered down John’s spine as he felt Sherlock tighten and release, pulsing around his knot. 

When the swollen knot finally receded enough to allow them to separate, John watched in rapt fascination as Sherlock’s gaping hole fluttered closed, an obscene trickle of white running out onto the sheets. He reached out, instinct guiding him to push as much as possible back into his omega’s arse. 

He shivered slightly at the delusion of “his” omega, but at least for this moment it was true. 

Sherlock groaned and pushed back even then, trying to fuck himself on John’s fingers. 

“Give me a minute, you glorious slag. Do I have to plug you up until I’m ready for another round? Watch you desperately hump yourself all filled up with my come? You’re so nice and stretched open, you can’t keep it all in. ”

Sherlock whined and his cock began to swell again at John’s filthy words. Sherlock reached into the bedside table and produced a plug. 

“Like that idea?” John chuckled darkly. “So do I,” he murmured, taking the plug and sliding it in place.

Sherlock rocked his hips. “Feels good. But not as good as you.”

John smiled at him. “Need a little bit of time before that again.” He reached out and pressed the plug deeper, making Sherlock squirm. He was practically mewling. John smiled,“Beautiful.”

“You’ll stay, won’t you? Though the heat.”

 _I’d stay here forever if you wanted me like that._ John thought, but merely said, “I’m here, Sherlock. I’ve got you.” He wrapped his arms around Sherlock, wishing it could be forever.

\---

Sherlock awoke in a panic. John wasn’t here. He said he’d stay and he wasn’t here!

Sherlock pondered the evidence. John had tried to stop this, but that was just his sense of rightness, of consent. Sherlock had gone out of his way to make it clear that this was no ridiculous, heat-driven frenzy. Surely John understood. 

Sherlock touched the wound on his shoulder shivering at the heady mix of pain and pleasure that even the brush of his own fingertips brought. John had marked him. Marked, yes, but he hadn’t claimed, not truly. 

Sherlock was no fool. He wasn’t domestic, wasn’t likely to feed John up, clean the flat, make a decent nest. He had no interest in being bred and never had. Well, outside of that hormone addled heat state where it always sounded good and right and possibly even necessary. Was that it? The omegas John had seen before wanted all that. So John must too.

But not with him.

Just then John bustled back in with a tray. He’d made them food of some kind. There were two mugs of hot tea and a pot to refresh them and toast with a selection of jams, marmite or marmalade for breakfast. Protein bars, whole fruit, a packet of the chocolate biscuits Sherlock liked, and bottles of water that would be good over the next day without having to stop to prepare them. He was well prepared.

Sherlock blinked and took the room in as if seeing it for the first time. There were fresh sheets and a stack of towels on the chair. John hadn’t gone. John had prepared. He was staying. Sherlock could feel the prickling well of tears in the corners of his eyes. He hated this, hated the near hysteria that seized him, making him honestly weep. 

John set aside the tray and came to him, laying a hand gently on his shoulder. “Sherlock? You still want this? If you’ve changed your mind I-”

“You weren’t here. I woke up and you…”

“Oh God, love. I’m so sorry. You were so peaceful and I knew we’d need a few things, so I-”

“You prepared our nest.”

John smiled. “I hope it’s alright.”

Sherlock drew him down into a kiss. “It’s alright as long as you get back here now.”

*

John had spent the whole heat with him. Sherlock actually ate and drank without much prompting and for that matter even slept when he needed it. John had been careful never to leave when Sherlock was asleep again. They were always together, used to one another’s rhythms and routines, but this was different. 221b always felt like home, but this was… it was everything

Their last time, Sherlock had been on his hands and knees, arse high, whispering “fuck me” over and over into the pillows, a mantra, a prayer a plea. John wouldn’t deny him. As he took him hard and fast, Sherlock cried out with pleasure, moving back against him to meet every thrust. Sherlock milked his cock, as though trying to wring every last drop of come from him and John did come, growling out his climax through clenched teeth to stave off biting, every instinct telling him to breed and bond his omega. His... even though Sherlock isn’t, he couldn’t be...

By the end John had begun to cursing himself for giving in, as realization dawned. Sherlock would be able to go back to normal. To delete everything if that’s what he wanted. John didn’t have that luxury. 

After four days together in all possible ways, barely leaving one another’s side, Sherlock’s heat was over. He’d kicked John out of bed that last night as it wore off. John offered to stay one more night, but Sherlock insisted he wanted space, that he was always tetchy at the end of it and just needed to sprawl out and sleep it off. 

There was something wrong, but Sherlock was adamant. He was fine. He just needed rest. 

Everything about Sherlock’s body language shut John out. It hurt, but he had no real choice but to honor his wishes. He kept trying not to think of it, blocking out the specifics of what Sherlock had said, but that did nothing to alleviate the dull ache left in their wake.

John’s dreams were restless, not the sated post-heat sleep he’d had with one offs before. In the middle of the night John woke and couldn’t get back to sleep. He crept downstairs and wanked in the shower, squeezing his knot rhythmically like when Sherlock had shuddered out his own climax around him.You’d think after four days he’s be sated but, just the memory of being in Sherlock’s bed was overwhelming. _God, nothing was ever going to be that good, was it?_

They danced around each other for weeks. Civil. The silences which had been contented and comfortably filled the space between them when they were occupied with their own tasks in the evenings felt stale. Stilted. It was hateful. They were more natural out of the house but it couldn’t be clearer that Sherlock regretted it, just as John had feared he would. He sounded so sure that first day. _the only alpha I’ve ever needed_

Every time John closed his eyes he could see Sherlock’s beautiful face contorted with pleasure or the way his eyes looked wide with desire. So vulnerable, too, in a way Sherlock never let himself be seen. He had let John in. To have had that, tasted that trust and peace and then to go back to this? Barely more than flatmates? It was unbearable. John ached for him.

It shouldn’t have to change anything. They were adults. These were just biological impulses. Almost everyone had them and there wasn’t any shame in giving in to them anymore. No one younger than his gran insisted you had to be bonded to fuck. 

But what he felt with Sherlock had been so much more than biology, more than just pheromones and chemical reactions. It was desperate. John had been pining for so long. He poured out his love in that heat in ways he could never admit out loud. It must have been more than Sherlock could handle. 

It had been twenty three days. Nearly a month. John was brooding, trying not to picture anything, _like turning Sherlock over the kitchen table, rucking up that blue silk and drawing those impossibly thin pajamas down. Listening to his little gasps of surprised pleasure as he dragged the bottoms off and buried his face between Sherlock’s cheeks, laving his slick hole with his tongue. Fuck._

John gritted his teeth, and stood, making his way to the bathroom for a furious and unfulfilling wank with tears prickling the corners of his eyes. When he finished, feeling more than a bit ridiculous, he splashed cold water on his face, smoothed his hair and headed back out into the awkward, silent room. He picked up a novel and flopped back into his chair, reading the first paragraph three times without making any sense of it before tossing it aside. 

Sherlock stood up from his experiment. “This isn’t working, John.” 

“Do you want to try the lab at Bart’s instead? Molly said you could use that new microscope. Top of the line. Would it help?”

“No, the experiment is fine. Not what I meant.”

“What then?” John asked, but the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach gave away what he already knew. Sherlock meant this. _Them._ He swallowed hard.

Sherlock fixed him with a look. “John,” he said softly, sinking into his chair.

“I know,” John said. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to…”

“I know I’m not the kind of omega you want, but I’d never asked anyone to share my heat in my life. I didn’t expect that I couldn’t just… I’m not sure I can just get over this, John.”

John stared at him in disbelief. “You- what?”

Sherlock looked up, alarmed. 

John’s voice shook slightly as he asked, “You want to be with me?”

“I can’t stop thinking about you. I thought I could get it out of my system if I just knew what it was like, but it’s been so much worse.”

“Wait, you planned…”

Sherlock looked rather sheepish for a moment. Drawing his dressing gown tighter around himself as though the thin fabric could somehow shield him from embarrassment, couldn’t meet John’s eyes as he admitted,. “If you hadn’t been amenable that would have been that, but you were. And now...”

John felt hope swell within his chest, but he needed to hear Sherlock say it. “Now, what?”

Sherlock’s voice was hushed, barely above a whisper, as he answered. “Now, I want things that aren’t mine to take.”

“Who says they can’t be?” John went to him, sweeping him into his arms and kissing him, tentatively at first. Could this really what Sherlock wanted?

Sherlock returned his kiss fervently and was breathless and near giddy when they broke apart. “We’ve been idiots, haven’t we?”

“Seems so, despite you being a proper genius and all.”

Sherlock stopped laughing and looked at John. “But what about all those little homemaker omegas you pursued? I know Sarah couldn’t wait to have a brood. The next alpha she dated had her bonded and bred in a cycle.”

“Surprised you managed to retain that. You usually couldn’t even be bothered to remember their names.”

Sherlock muttered something John couldn’t quite catch. “What’s that, love?”

“It was petty, but it annoyed them that I couldn’t keep track of them. Probably made you seem fickle, like you picked and chose among hordes of pursuing omegas. Could just have made it seem like you were a tremendously good catch to have so much interest, but…” Sherlock looked away.

John sighed. “But mostly it just made it seem like they weren’t around long enough for you to learn their names. Besides, they generally told me I should just bond with you and stop teasing anyone else, since I clearly existed as your partner over anyone else’s, no matter what I said about it” John looked up, right into Sherlock’s eyes and wouldn’t let himself look away. Some things were hard to say because they were worth saying, worth the risk. “They were right, you know. I _don’t_ want to be with anyone else. I don’t want to chase anyone else, take care of anyone else. And I certainly wouldn’t want to bond with anyone else. I’m all yours, Sherlock, if you’ll have me.” 

Sherlock drew him close. “I was rather hoping you’d have me,” he purred, giving John a playful nip on the ear then tilted his head, stretching out his neck in offering. 

John nuzzled into Sherlock’s neck, breathing in the scent of him. “Oh, I’ll certainly do that,” he said as his hand palmed Sherlock’s cock. He took another steadying breath. “You truly want this? With me?”

“Oh, John. Only you.” Sherlock’s voice was deeper even than his usual baritone and the way he said John’s name filled him with warmth. It spread through him, radiating like the comfort of a hot cup of cocoa in the chill of a winter morning. “It’s only ever been you.” 

Their lips met in a fierce kiss, fueled by their long-suppressed desire. After that, neither was aware of anything but hands and lips, the press of their bodies together for long moments. Sherlock straddled John’s lap, their cocks throbbing at the closeness. 

“Claim me, John. Mark me,” Sherlock panted between frantic kisses, grinding down against him, neck arched, exposed, vulnerable, even on top. “Bond with me, John. We are already partners in every other way. I’m yours.”

“God, yes, Sherlock.” John drew him down, kissed, licked and, yes, finally bit. 

Sherlock shuddered and groaned atop him, writhing with the pleasure of connection. The pain was bright, but the pleasure brighter and Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut at the sheer intensity of it. He felt the flush of his skin, the dampness of his thighs. The ache deep inside to be filled, so intense it hurt. It wasn’t time. Not for two more months, yet. “John?” 

“Oh, love. You’re ready for me already, aren’t you. So soon?” John’s cock swelled further. “Tell me what you need,” he said, pulling Sherlock down into a kiss.

“You,” Sherlock said, his voice rough. “I only need you. Nothing else, just you right now. I want to ride you right here until we’re sealed together and you coat me inside and out with your come. I want to revel in your scent and the way mine changes when you’re with me. ” 

John’s cock throbbed harder at Sherlock’s words. “Yes, Sherlock. All of it, yes.”

Sherlock kisses him again and lifted up just enough for John to shuck out of his trousers and pants. He stripped off his own clothes completely and settled over John reaching down to steady John’s cock as he sank down. His eyes rolled back with the pleasure of it and he moaned deep in his throat 

John kissed his lips, his chest, his throat, breathing in the heady scent of him as Sherlock rose and fell, enveloping him completely. “Christ, Sherlock,” he breathed. He grasped Sherlock’s hips, encouraging him 

Sherlock grabbed John’s hands and arched back his rhythmic motion becoming more frantic, more forceful. Say what you want about alphas and omegas, but there was nothing at all passive in Sherlock. He was urgent, a whirlwind, and all John could do this time was hang on. It was exhilarating, glorious.

At last Sherlock cried out, burying his face in John’s neck. He let go of John’s hands, their arms twining about one another as if desperate to touch everywhere at once. Sherlock bit down just as John had and John froze in startled pleasure and the heady cocktail of chemicals released. John licked and sucked at Sherlock’s bite mark in return before nipping it again. It was incandescent. Transcendent. Like an electric circuit of pleasure had been completed. John held Sherlock even closer, pressing him down and bonding completely. Filling, knotting, taking and giving so completely. A litany of unspoken romance filled his mind-- _yes i love you you’re mine my omega I’m yours forever._ \--until even that was blotted out, subsumed in the ecstasy they shared.

Sherlock released John and shuddered, panting against his ear. “That was…” he began, but trailed off as if words failed him for once.

“I know,” John whispered back, tracing soothing circles on his back. “I know.”

They were locked together, their bodies forcing them to take this moment, to savor it and not rush ahead. The sound of Sherlock’s contented breathing was lulling and they curled in on one another in a hazy near doze. As his knot receded, John knew they’d need to clean up, to call in to the surgery for another short leave, to think about eating something to keep their energy up, and surely there were people who’d want to know their happy news. But not yet. The thoughts and plans were distant and Sherlock showed no signs of the remotest interest in moving quite yet. John smiled against his omega’s neck and kissed him lightly, more at peace then he could ever recall. The world could wait awhile longer. This moment was theirs alone.


End file.
